


Eight of Wands

by SerpentsKiss



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Tarot Prompt, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentsKiss/pseuds/SerpentsKiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony keeps a close eye on Steve's attempt to tame the Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight of Wands

It was a mark of the Winter Soldier's deterioration that Stark had been able to capture him and that the newly renovated tower had been able to contain him. Granted, the plans that Stark had used to create the prison that held him were mostly copied from the container that had kept even Loki in check, but the point was that he was there. Helpless. That was what disturbed Steve.

Most of the modifications that Stark had made were really quite thoughtful. Steve moved slowly around the outside of the cage, taking slow and thoughtful steps to examine the design. He didn't need to, he knew; he'd been told it would hold, so it would hold. Really, he was just wasting time, spending as many seconds as he could to prepare himself before he faced Bucky. That was terrifying and so he chose to critique the little room-sized prison instead. It didn't help that he could find nothing wrong with it – in fact, the changes to the original plans really were very considerate of Stark, and Steve wondered if that was out of respect for him or concern for Bucky. After all, Stark knew how terrifying it could be to be severely mentally compromised and trapped. He had provided Bucky several conveniences that he suspected were designed specifically to combat this, such as blanking out the majority of the prison wall instead of leaving it clear and revealing, and sectioning a small area to use as a bathroom and another that contained a bed. There were no blankets; the Winter Soldier was unstable, and the temperature in the prison was kept comfortable, Steve had been told. If Bucky didn't know about the hidden cameras that tracked his every move (no matter how private), well. Steve wouldn't tell him.

The clear part of the cage was sliding around the curve toward him as he walked. There was no going back once he reached it, no way to step out of Bucky's life after that even if he wasn't ready. He had to choose now, because once he made that commitment to whatever was left of his friend, that pact to not stray from his side, to see him healthy and sane again no matter what the cost, once he made that – he couldn't go back. He couldn't let Bucky down.

The wall kept curving, the need for a final decision looming closer. Steve kept walking. He stopped at the edge of the clear space, looking in at an angle. Unsurprisingly, Bucky was nowhere to be seen. Stark had told him that he preferred to steer clear of the area of transparency, to stay as private as possible. He hated to be observed, and Steve (and Stark) both had a profound respect for that, under the circumstances.

Still, it would do him no good right now. Steve pressed a hand to the smooth side of the round prison and almost lost his balance when he slid through it. Stark was watching, obviously, and had obligingly let the stuff re-form around him to let him get through. He'd warned Steve of how odd it would feel, but no amount of warning could be enough for that creepy, slitheringly slimy sensation to not turn his stomach.

Just as he expected, Bucky was nearby, just inside the curve of the now-solid doorway, where it was most difficult to see him from the outside. He had his back pressed to the wall, his arms tucked around himself as though trying to reach knives that were no longer secreted in his clothing. He looked strangely helpless in the white t-shirt and blue pajama bottoms, the absence of the dark colors the Winter Soldier wore making him seem like such a pale reflection of himself, less dangerous, less mysterious.

Steve knew better, though. He should be ready, prepared to defend himself. It would make sense for the Winter Soldier to go straight for his throat. In fact, Stark had told him that he would, and tried to insist that Steve take something to defend himself with. Steve wouldn't, of course. If Bucky attacked him, Bucky attacked him. He had to do what he needed to do, and Steve wouldn't fight back. Bucky and his needs came first, as always. That wasn't an option.

When he first knelt by Bucky's side he didn't even appear to see Steve. That was fine. Steve stayed where he was, a foot or so from him, and just waited. It took minutes for him to look up, and then he stared at Steve as though he were a ghost or a monster or maybe just a wall. Steve stayed still. Waited. Began, finally, to relax a little, beginning to think that this would be their whole visit. Then Bucky struck.

The metal hand was freezing where it circled his throat. The sharp contrast made his human hand feel as though it burned Steve's skin where it was locked on his neck. It was too sudden, too startling for Steve to so much as gasp before he was on his back and air was suddenly unattainable and something he desperately wanted. Even if he could get air into his mouth, though, Bucky's weight on his chest would make it almost as difficult to breathe as the hands choking him. He stared up at Bucky, eyes suddenly wet with tears at what he should have expected but still felt as a betrayal. The Winter Soldier stared back through his friend's eyes, pupils huge and expression black with confusion.

If those hands had been closed around his throat for as long as Steve felt like they were, he'd surely be dead. It could only have been a few seconds, but it felt like it must have been at least as long as he was in the ice. Then the grip was gone, and he was choking for air and could almost feel the bruises forming in the absence of Bucky's hands.

The wild eyes were still staring down at him but he didn't know who was behind them now. The face was Bucky's, though, the fear was Bucky's, the blank confusion that bordered terror all an expression he had seen before when he'd taken Bucky off a table and –

He didn't know what made him do it. It wasn't something they'd ever done before, not something that had ever even crossed his mind. Suddenly he wasn't sure why, because as he caught his breath and leaned up and pressed his lips to the strained grimace above him, it felt right. It kept getting better, too, as the grimace melted into surprised slackness and then, slowly, into response. Steve had a bad moment when he felt that cold hand on his neck again, but then it slid behind him and was supporting the back of his head as Bucky kissed him back and that warm mouth melted against his own and for a long time after that it didn't seem like they were two people, but only one – one who had been divided for so long, and finally made a whole.

In his lab, Tony's hand finally relaxed from where it was poised over a very particular “panic” button (the “holy shit, the soulless monster with the metal arm is being a menace” panic button) and slid to rest on his thigh as he watched the cameras. After a little while it slid further, into the front of his pants, and Tony sat back in his chair with a grin. Well, then. Steve's stupid idea that he could emotionally disarm the Winter Soldier had worked. Why hadn't he told Tony that he was planning something like this? Tony would have to chide him for it later just to see Steve's cheeks flare hot with embarrassment. That would be almost as good as watching this.


End file.
